Journey's End
by miss.daydreaming
Summary: Everyone grows old, even a Bhaalspawn. Written for the Attic quiz: 'Old Age'


Title: Journey's End

Author: MelG

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Baldur's Gate, all recognisable characters are used without permission. Avelin is mine though. The song is also not mine, it's by Annie Lennox. Another lyric, this time by Andrew Lloyd Webber is used later in the story. I'm interested to see if anyone recognises it.

A/N: This was written for the 'Old Age' quiz at The Attic. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews are, of course, very welcome.

_Night is falling; you have come to journey's end_

_Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before,_

_They are calling, from across the distant shore._

_-Annie Lennox "Into The West"_

Avelin looked up briefly from her work, her attention caught by some half-seen movement. It ceased with her frantic scribbling and she scolded herself for foolishness; it was nothing more that her reflection in the dark window. She hadn't realised that it had become so late, almost midnight perhaps and her work _still_ wasn't finished. Only her own fault, of course, for playing with Imoen when she should have been inside. But an essay on the uses of dragon blood was just so _boring_. Not at all what she had expected when Gorion had offered her the chance to study magic.

She studied her reflection with unusual attention, her mind looking for anything to concentrate on besides the need to write. She was a pretty girl really, though she rarely thought of herself that way. The faint candle-light added an extra sheen to her golden hair and a twinkle to her bright eyes. She could just imagine Gorion's reaction if he caught her working with such poor light. _"I do believe you were sent to try me, child. I have told you before, if you do not wish to be wearing spectacles before you are twenty…"_ The thought of his long-suffering expression made her smile, adding deep laughter-lines to the reflection.

A cough from the direction of the doorway startled her. In contemplating her reflection she had failed to notice the door opening and the addition of another reflection to her own. "Now, child. What on Faerun could possibly have you up so late?" Gorion. Just exactly the _last_ person she wanted to be found by.

"Uh, it's nothing, father. Just some reading. It's really very interesting." She smiled brightly. Gorion looked sceptical but made no further comment.

"Well, no matter how interesting your bedtime was several hours ago. I believe you are expected in the stables in approximately six hours. A little sleep may be in order." Avelin nodded gratefully but gave her unfinished work a worried glance as she tidied her things. As she passed Gorion he grasped her shoulder, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Let me give you some advice Avelin. First, Karan will be just as angry with you for falling asleep in lessons as for undone work." His expression was stern and ever so slightly disapproving. She flushed unhappily, tears stinging her eyes. Unable to meet his gaze any longer she stared at the floor. "Second, I cannot imagine that you would enjoy wearing spectacles." Hearing the smile in his voice she gave him a tremulous one in return.

"I'll try not to disappoint you again, father."

0000000

A cough from the doorway startled Avelin awake. "I'm sorry, father. I know I shouldn't be up so late. I was just…" She trailed off, unable to remember exactly what she had been doing.

"Ummm, ma'am, are you quite alright?"

That was _not_ Gorion's voice. She squinted at the blurry figure. _What in Faerun…? Oh yes._ She fumbled at her chest for a few seconds before retrieving a pair of spectacles from their chain and placing them on her nose. The figure focused into a junior monk, looking _extremely_ nervous to have woken her. _For goodness sake man, I've been here over a month and I've yet to eat anyone._ "Yes?"

"Ummm, excuse me, ma'am, but it's awfully late. We were just wondering if you were alright." The monk managed to stammer out, blushing.

"As you can see, I am fine." She forced herself to remember when she had been his age and add more kindly. "Thank you for your concern. I shall not need more help this evening. He nodded, half-bowed and left. She sighed with relief because, in reality, she was far from fine. Her dream had been so vivid, she still felt disorientated. No wonder, as in fact it had been a memory rather than a dream. Had occurred in the very room in which she now sat.

The study had changed very little with time; the books were a little dustier, the desk a little more scuffed. Sitting in the chair one could still see their reflection in the dark window. In fact, if Avelin removed her spectacles she could almost convince herself that little had changed there either. Candlelight still added a golden sheen to her hair and a twinkle to her eyes. If she smiled her eyes were still deeply lined. But illusion had never been her speciality. She replaced her spectacles. Her hair was stark white; her eyes watery, the twinkle nothing more than reflected light. And her face was lined whether she smiled or not. _Sixty years have a strange habit of changing a person._

But some things would never change. A pile of unfinished work sat on the desk before her. Or perhaps they did. This time she fully intended to finish it. Painfully she sat upright, retyping her quill in the ink and rereading her final sentence. _'So, to reiterate, I would not recommend that any young mage travel in Athkatla. As I hope my personal experiences have illustrated, the potential hazards are far too great. But, if travel you will or must, remember the saying: "money opens doors." Remember also that it is easier to comply with local custom than to oppose it.'_ That was where she had paused to consider her final words and fallen asleep and dreamed. Now she continued: _'I hope that what I have written has proven instructive. If it has also proven useful then I have achieved my aim. As always, I thank you for reading.'_ She smiled in satisfaction as she signed her name. _'Avelin Delryn.'_

"There, finished." Somehow it felt anti-climatic after the tremendous effort she had put into the work. That not there was truly anything to be climatic about. The work was simply a book on magic in Amn and Athkatla, intended as a guide to young mages. Not the completion of a life's work, merely it's continuation. Certainly not her first book. Her twelfth in fact. All on the same theme; guidance for young mages with an adventurous streak. All the guidance that she wished someone had given her. No, there was nothing special about this book, except for one thing. It would be her last.

With a good deal of effort and pain she pushed herself up out of her chair, groped for her walking stick, hobbled out of the room and faced the arduous task of descending her stairs to her room. It was certainly ironic that the girl who had once rushed down those stairs, mostly likely knocking over whatever doddering monk happened to be coming up, was reduced to this. _Oh how the mighty are fallen._ She heard what the clerics weren't saying when they spoke of weakness in this and susceptibility to that._ You're dying Avelin._

Probably that was why she had returned to Candlekeep, when staying in Athkatla would have been so much easier, not to mention better for her health than the long journey north. It certainly had not been to escape painful memories, though following her beloved husband's death Athkatla had been full of those. Candlekeep held just as many. In every room something reminded her of her father, how he had died before she could make him proud. Or of Imoen, the best friend she hadn't seen for at least six years. Exactly how long it had been she found she could no longer quite remember.

Any hopes she might have entertained of finding companionship for her loneliness had proven vain. There never had been many of her generation in the keep. As children she and Imoen had mostly been alone. She had even lost the group of admirers the tales of her exploits would once have produced. Some went in terror of her power, others disbelieved that so frail a woman could ever have carried out such deeds. _If only they knew. Truth is always stranger than rumour._ And what of her companions in these exploits? All gone. Separated by distance or the grave. Avelin had lived her life and they had lived theirs. _Even Immy. How could I lose even Immy? When we were so close. Sisters in more than blood…_

Alone, in her dark, silent room, she allowed a few tears to fall down her wrinkled cheeks, further obscuring her blurred vision.

0000000

Avelin was dying. Not the abstract dying that a pessimist would claim all were engaged in since the second of their birth. Not even the dying where one was growing old and suddenly became aware that they would never be young again. No, this was the kind of dying where all hope fled and the inevitable had to be accepted.

Imoen sniffed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. A childish gesture that, along with a fondness for pranks and a love of pink, she had never rid herself of. _How'd we get here, Ve? Why'd we let it end like this?_ She didn't think her friend was even aware that she was there, sitting by Avelin's bedside, clutching her hand as if daring Kelemvor himself to part them.

Avelin struggled to open her eyes. It was an effort but then so was everything else. Including breathing. So much easier to just stop, leave her eyes closed and drift. But then she would never know who was beside her, who cared enough to watch her die. _I'm probably dreaming it. Probably it's no-one at all._ She opened her eyes. The view was even more indistinct than normal. All she could really see was…pink. _It can't be. Don't you dare hope! You know it isn't her!_ "Immy?"

Imoen started at the cracked whisper. "Ve?" She whispered in disbelief. "Oh Gods, Avelin! I'm right here sis. S'ok now. I'm here. You're gonna be ok." She barely realised that she was crying helplessly.

"Why?" Asked Avelin, lacking the strength to form a proper sentence. Imoen understood, as always.

"You didn't really think I was gonna let my big sis go without saying goodbye did you?" She tried for a bright tone but failed miserably. "Why'd you do it, Ve? It didn't have to be like this. Not yet!"

Avelin blinked, her vision clearing a little, allowing her to see the face hovering tearfully over hers. She knew exactly what Imoen meant. Her friend needed no illusions of youth, she still possessed the reality, her face little changed since the days of their first adventures. Still essentially innocent, still mischievous, still _young_. Miraculous, the things magic could do really. _Maybe that's why we drifted apart. She couldn't bear to see me like this…or I to see her._ "Anomen…" Imoen stared at her, afraid that her mind was wandering. She made more of an effort. "Why I did it…These months without him…bad enough. Couldn't face…years. One love…one lifetime…more than enough." She smiled weakly but genuinely.

There was no reply Imoen could give to that except her tears. Avelin said no more, both from weakness and the pleasure of enjoying another's silent company. _Thank you, Immy._

Imoen didn't know how long the silence lasted. It was Avelin who finally broke it, in a way that shocked Imoen enough to dry her tears. Avelin spoke, but not in her previous cracked, halting whisper. Her voice was that of the girl she had been so many years before, young and unmarred by the world. "Father! You came back for me. Have I done it? Are you proud of me? Ano! I knew you'd come. I love you, I swear, I'll never leave you."

Imoen would have assumed that her friend's mind had finally gone, if not for a shocking sensation, as if someone had dropped a snowball inside her robe. She turned her head slowly, half-knowing what she would see. They were not alone in the room. Two figures stood at the end of the bed, regarding the scene solemnly. Imoen was an arch-mage, had seen many dreadful things but the sight of her dead foster father and her sister's dead husband, both with firelight visible trough them, was not one she could take calmly. "No! You can't have her!" She glared but the two ghost simply stared at her sadly. "You can't…" She burst into tears again, clutching Avelin's hand tighter. It was icy cold.

She stared at her sister's hand for a long time, trying not to believe. Then, eventually, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she looked again to the foot of the bed. Three spirits stared back.


End file.
